


in essence

by orphan_account



Series: qui pro domina justitia sequitur [9]
Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, First Time, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Reminiscing, oh thank god it's finally over, this series has taken so much of my soul that i think it should count as a horucrux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 15:07:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11255445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s the end of something. He’s not sure of what, but he knows it’s the end. If he can even say it began at all.





	in essence

**Author's Note:**

> references [here](https://www.washingtonian.com/2008/08/01/the-ultimate-g-man-robert-mueller-remakes-the-fbi/) and [here](https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2013/05/james-comey-obamas-pick-to-lead-the-fbi-stood-up-against-the-bush-legal-opinion-on-enhanced-interrogations/454686/), though, to be fair, they're both old articles.

_Aaron sees him immediately when he walks in, already sitting in a corner booth with his back pressed up against the wall. Andy nods his head when their eyes meet and he lifts his glass, gesturing him forward. Aaron doesn’t bother ordering a drink, he just walks forward and slides right in._

_“Thanks for meeting me here,” he says. He runs a hand through his hair. “I, uh, wasn’t sure if you’d be able to come, what with your new job and all.”_

_“Everyone’s got to take breaks sometime,” Andy replies with a shrug. “Besides, a message like that, well…” He takes a long sip. “Had it come from anyone else, we wouldn’t be here right now.”_

_“I can only imagine,” Aaron says, and he really can. He and Andy, they’re similar in a lot of ways – and one of those ways, he’s about to reveal right now. He clears his throat, a tad awkward. “It’s not blackmail.”_

_“So you’ve said,” Andy says, “repeatedly, before trying to get me to meet you here.”_

_“I just want to make it absolutely clear.”_

_“I get it, I really do. But, well, if not blackmail…” he trails off, looking at Aaron expectantly, waiting for him to fill in the details._

_Aaron pauses. He takes a moment to look around, at the various patrons absorbed in their own conversations, at two people a few tables away that are very obviously Andy’s security detail, and he takes a deep breath. “It’s more like… a support group.”_

_Andy raises a brow. “A what now?”_

_“A support group,” he repeats. “It’s, well…” he waves his hands around a little. “You to – to Jim is me to Bob.”_

_Understanding lights up Andy’s eyes and his mouth gapes open for a second before he quickly closes it. He still looks a little shocked as he drinks again. “Oh,” he says, plainly._

_“Yeah,” Aaron nods._

_“How…” he purses his lips and searches for the words. “How did you find out?”_

_“Ah,_ that _.” Aaron looks over to the bar and then back to Andy. “Let me get a couple more drinks before I get into that.”_

_“That’s not a good sign,” Andy mumbles. He takes another sip. “At least give me a teaser while you order.”_

_“All right,” Aaron says. He licks his lips and, after looking around again, leans in close. “_ They’re _together.”_

_This time, Andy keeps his mouth agape._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part of Jim thought that, after the whole Stellar Wind thing and what happened because of it, things would change. Not just between the White House and the Department of Justice but, well, between him and –

Director Mueller? Bob? God, what should he call him now, if things go south? Have things gone south? They haven’t had much of a chance to be alone yet, not with constant terror threats needing to be navigated.

Outwardly, Bob doesn’t seem different at all. He still comes in for their daily briefing with the President and they still ride back together to their offices in the same car, and they still attend their meetings together, still sit together, still act normal – but there hasn’t been the same kind of moment yet. Not that kind of moment they had that night, when, well…

Work always comes first with Bob and Jim understands that, he does, except –

“Jim?”

Bob’s staring at him, files in his hand with his brow raised and a look of genuine concern on his face. Outside, there’s a slight pitter-patter as rain hits the windows.

“Are you okay?” Bob asks.

Jim blinks a couple of times until he manages to nod. “Yes, I… I was just…”  Words don’t come to him fast enough and he’s left stammering for a few seconds before Bob interjects.

“Not getting carsick, are you?” he asks, slight curl to his lips, but his eyes are warm and soft.

“No, no,” Jim says quickly. He knows his face is heating up but there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He clears his throat. “No, I just…”

“Just what?”

The car suddenly stops and John is looking at them in the rearview mirror and it’s just like that one night, the night before they… they…

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he blurts out, then inwardly curses a little because that’s far from what he wanted to say but what choice does he have? It’s a private conversation and this isn’t a private moment. He opens the door and starts to head out.

And then Bob reaches out and touches his arm. “Jim,” he says, voice soft and gentle and secure, “take care of yourself.”

Jim’s heart beats against his chest and his lips are parted, slightly, and for a moment, he really forgets where he is and he feels himself leaning back, moving closer, until Bob clears his throat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. He moves his hand off of Jim and leans back against the seat. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Jim replies. He closes the car door, feet heavy as he forces his legs to move forward, to walk away, to keep moving.

His arm feels warm for the rest of the day and it’s both a blessing and a curse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They’re having an early breakfast meeting right before another briefing when Jim blurts out, “Bob, what are we?”

Bob sets his coffee down and looks at him with a curious expression. “Well, there are a lot of different answers to that,” he muses. “But I suppose ‘Deputy Attorney General’ and ‘FBI Directors’ are adequate identifiers.”

Jim can’t resist a roll of his eyes. Of course, a question like his deserves an answer like that. But he does have a real question and it needs an answer. His brow is a little furrowed, chest a little tight, and he clears his throat.

“I’m serious, Bob,” he says, leaning forward a little. His hands fidget with each other and he looks down at them mostly while he speaks. “What are we – you and I, the unit? Ever since that night, the night before we planned on resigning, I feel like things have been… different between us.”

For a moment, Bob doesn’t say anything. One of his hands is on his side while the other rests on his face, in the space between his nose and mouth. He’s looking at Jim with such intense eyes and while part of him wants to look away, another part wants to do anything but.

“Well,” Bob says, breaking the silence, “you stayed away, so I stayed away.”

“I did, didn’t I?” He did, didn’t he? “I… well, I stayed away because I… I didn’t know what you wanted.”

Bob’s face betrays no emotion as he listens, but there’s the subtlest softness in his eyes as he says, “What do you want, Jim?”

It takes him a second to answer – not because he doesn’t know, but because he’s not sure he has the guts to say them. His mouth opens and closes a few times and then, then he just forces himself to blurt it out.

“I want – _this_ ,” he settles on. _You_ , his mind tries to push but his mouth just won’t cooperate. “This,” he says again. “What we – what we had that night. That’s… that’s what I want.”

“That’s a decent answer,” Bob says.

Jim chokes out a chuckle. “Is it?” he asks. “Because I thought it was kind of stupid.”

A smile defines itself on Bob’s lips and Jim closes his eyes well in advance of when Bob leans forward and slowly kisses him. His hand holds the side of his face and Jim just leans into it, worries disappearing, weight lifting from his shoulders, his mind filled with just this moment.

His lips are chapped and he tastes of coffee and takes it all in.

They part after a couple of seconds – probably not longer than that – and Bob puts his hand on Jim’s knee. “Feeling better now?”

“Yeah,” Jim says. His voice comes out in what can only be described as a lovelorn whisper and he clears his throat to try again. “Yes, I am.”

“Good.” Bob grabs his coffee and takes a sip, picking the files back off the desk and skimming through them again. “Because we have to get through these pages before the briefing.”

“Right, yes.” He starts going through the pages, exchanging comments with Bob every so often, and dear Lord, isn’t compartmentalizing amazing because he can focus on his work without thinking about how close he is to Bob and how he could just lean over and they could just kiss, again, and –

“What’s the update on Babar?” Jim asks.

“It was right here…” Bob rifles through a few pages. “Ah, yes, well, from what we can tell, he’s taken a second job along with his previous one.”

“All of this during a so-called ‘jobless economic recovery’,” Jim hums. “Clearly, Kerry hasn’t been talking to the right people on the campaign trail. The terrorism market has definitely seen some recovery.”

Bob laughs, shaking his head with a grin, and Jim can’t help but laugh along with him.

He’s not laughing, hours later, when they’re in the Oval Office and going over the brief with the President. He doesn’t spend much time looking over it again, not really, instead just watching as Bob sits by Bush and explains the situation.

There’s something so comforting about just listening to his words, watching him work, and it’s not until Jim takes a moment to tune back in to the actual content of the words that he realizes what’s being said.

“… and Kerry keeps talking about how this is a jobless economy. Then Comey said…” Bob turns his face and looks at Jim expectantly, and then Jim realizes that everyone in the room is staring at him.

“What did you say, Comey?” Bush asks after a moment.

Jim says the first thing he can think of. “Mr. President, who says you haven’t created any jobs? Babar’s got two new jobs!”

A small ripple of laughter goes through the room and Bush replies, “I really wish we could use stats like these in the attack ads, but then we’d have to mention they were only for terrorists.”

The meeting continues on as usual and it’s as they’re all filing out of the Oval and heading back to their respective cars that Jim grabs Bob’s arm and says, in a straight yet stern voice, “Don’t _ever_ do that again.”

“Bob,” George says, coming up from behind them, “ _please_ do that again. Because not only was it hilarious to watch Jim squirm for that brief moment where he had no idea what was going on, but I have _never_ seen you laugh in the Oval Office before.”

“First, I have laughed at least _once_ in the Oval Office,” Bob counters easily, “and two, we’re not all like you, George, where we can’t sit still for a couple of moments without getting antsy.”

George rolls his eyes dramatically and looks to Jim. “I don’t know how you put up with him,” he says, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Did he ever tell you about how, back when he had parties at his house when he was in the DOJ, he’d wait until it was five till eleven and then start flicking the lights on and off to get people the hell out of there?”

“It was a Saturday, we had church the next day,” Bob says. “And you weren’t even there.”

“I might as well have been.”

Bob just shakes his head, a slight smile on his face. “All right, enough chit-chat, we’ve all got work to do.” He starts walking away and Jim is just about to follow him, when George clears his throat.

“Hey, Jim?” he says, waiting for him to turn around before he continues. “Bob’s great, isn’t he?”

Jim’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean, so he takes it at face value and says, unintentionally soft, “Yeah, he is.”

They go their separate ways and in the car, away from prying eyes, Bob holds Jim’s hand. It sends electric sparks down Jim’s spine and he can’t stop smiling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The job starts to get to him when Gonzales becomes his immediate superior. The whole hospital incident hangs in the air between them at every interaction and Jim makes sure they’re never completely alone, ever, as long as they’re both still working there.

And then the problem of “enhanced interrogation techniques” rears its head and Jim has nowhere to turn to but himself. Well, no, that’s not exactly true – Pat is on his side, like he was back during Stellar Wind (and honestly, how many times will they be on the other side of the White House on issues like this; the only ones who are trying to keep the DOJ free from political influence when making decisions like this?).

But there’s one person whose advice would be greatly appreciated right now – and always, really – but he couldn’t tell Bob about this. Stellar Wind had to do with him, but the CIA has nothing to do with him and so, bound by propriety, Jim can’t tell him anything.

“Fuck propriety,” he mumbles under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he types out his email.

Chuck looks up from his desk. “Did you say something?”

“No, no,” Jim replies, holding back a sigh. He lets his breath out through his nose and shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing,” Chuck says, tone concerned but words picked with care, making sure he doesn’t go beyond any boundaries.

“It’s fine,” Jim assures him. “Honestly. You can go on back, I’ll send the email as soon as I’m finished.”

“All right,” Chuck says. He grabs his briefcase and a couple of loose files and he’s almost out the door, but turns around halfway through. “You should talk to Director Mueller.”

Jim does let out his sigh, expression demure as he looks at him. “He’s not involved in this.”

Chuck nods. “I know,” he says. “But that’s why you should talk to him.” He leaves before Jim can say anything in response, door closing gently behind him as he goes.

If Jim weren’t resigning, he’d put in a request to get him a raise. He finishes off the email and sends it, then takes a couple of moments to work up the courage to grab the phone and call Bob. It rings for a few seconds and then, “Hello?”

“Hi,” Jim says, and all of a sudden, everything feels like it’s looking brighter and better. It’s going to go back to bleak and unsettling in a couple of moments, as soon as he hangs up, but right now it feels like everything is going to be just fine.

“What do you need, Jim?” Bob asks. “Everything all right there?”

Jim doesn’t know what to say for a couple of seconds. He bites down on his tongue to stop himself from talking about the meeting he just had with Gonzales and it takes him a bit to find what to say instead. “Bob,” he says, finally, “we haven’t had a moment with just - just us, in so long.”

“Just us,” Bob repeats. “So Christmas doesn’t count?”

A small gathering at Bob’s, some strategically placed mistletoe, and Jim flushes slightly at the memory. He clears his throat. “No, Christmas had other people too.”

“Everywhere is going to have other people,” Bob says. He says nothing, paper shuffling around in the background, before letting out a sigh. “I can give you one night.”

“Can it be tonight?”

There’s a slight pause. “It can.”

“Okay,” Jim says quietly. “I’ll… I’ll see you when I come by.”

“Okay,” Bob says. “I’ll see you.”

They hang up and get back to their work – Jim can scarcely imagine the kind of work that’s on Bob’s plate right now but if it’s anything like Jim’s dealing with, it must be an incredible toll on him. He calls Patrice to tell her he’s spending the night at Bob’s and she tells him not to overwork himself, and then he’s off.

By his estimate, it takes about five minutes from Jim stepping in through the door to him being pressed against the wall, grabbing Bob’s face and pulling him closer until there’s not even room to breathe between them. Bob has a hand on the small of his back and rubs gentle circles, soothing and steadying and it makes Jim’s knees go weak.

He pulls back a moment. “Bob, I…”

“What do you want, Jim?” Bob asks.

His mouth goes dry and he swallows hard, mind drawing a blank as he tries to remember what he wanted to say. “I… Can we…” his eyes dart around and then he gestures to the bedroom. “Can we…?”

Bob follows his gaze, looking back at him. “Do you want to?”

“Can you?”

“I can,” Bob says. He takes Jim’s arm, keeping him close and secure as they make their way inside. He’s gentle as he slowly, one by one, undoes the buttons on Jim’s shirt and helps him pull it off. Jim’s arms hang loosely at his sides and he’s not sure he can really move, not minding that his belt is off and so are his pants. He’s just looking at Bob and he doesn’t think he can think about anything else.

Bob kisses the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to turn you around now, okay?”

“Okay,” Jim replies, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own. He’s turned around, pressed up against the bed and hands gripping at the sheets in anticipation. Of course, he has an idea as to what would happen next but, well, ideas are different than execution.

There’s a warm hand on his waist, comforting and supporting, and then Bob presses a finger inside of him.

Heat fills Jim’s face and he can’t hold back his gasp. His hands tighten and he can’t really breathe and –

“Jim?” Bob’s voice breaks through the cloud of his mind. “Are you okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Oh, Lord, why would Bob even think that? There’s no way that he could ever hurt Jim – God, no. He was always there to help him, a steadying presence in Jim’s tumultuous life. He shakes his head. “No,” he whispers, breathless. “No, you’re not.”

“Okay,” Bob says gently. He moves his finger around slowly, almost painstakingly so, and Jim can feel his dick harden when Bob kisses the side of his shoulder. “I’m going to put in a second finger now, okay?”

Jim’s not sure how that’s even going to work, or how it’s even working now, but he nods and grits his teeth. It’s a little easier this time but it feels so much more intense, every movement felt right to his core and, oh, he can’t hold it back, he lets out a moan. “Oh, God…”

“That’s not the first time someone’s called me that,” Bob says, slight chuckle to his tone, but Jim can’t come up with a response fast enough before there’s pressure up against his prostate and his eyes roll into the back of his head, maybe, if he didn’t have them squeezed shut.

“Oh, God,” he says again. “Oh, God, Bob, please…”

“You’re doing so well, Jim,” Bob says softly. “So well. Just a little while more, okay?”

“Bob, please, I…” Jim isn’t really sure what he’s asking for but he has an idea and if it’s anything like what he’s feeling now – and he knows it’s going to be more – then, dear Lord, he thinks he’ll explode when it happens. “I need…”

“What do you need?”

 _It. You_. Jim knows he says one of those aloud, but he’s not sure which one. Maybe both. Does it matter, isn’t it the same thing? Isn’t it?

Bob’s fingers slowly slide out of him and Jim lets out the breath he was holding. Bob holds his waist and there’s an agonizing second where he knows what’s going to happen next but he doesn’t know when, doesn’t know what to expect, and his hands are gripping the sheets again and then –

And then Bob slowly pushes inside of him and Jim is lost to the world. He’s not sure what happens next, not sure what Bob does or what he does. His mouth is hanging open and words and sounds are coming out but it doesn’t matter what they are. He doesn’t really care about that.

Bob’s kissing the side of his neck and he’s saying something but every time Jim tries to tune in, he’s just pushed further down this rabbit hole of, well, whatever. But the words roll over his subconscious and he feels a hand on his dick, grip firm and moving steadily, and it’s not long until, suddenly, everything goes white.

When he comes to, finally, after God knows how long, he’s lying back on the bed. Bob is right beside him, dressed like he was before – only in his underwear and a shirt – and his hands gently card through Jim’s hair. There’s a brief beat of silence and then he says, “You know, I didn’t think it was _that_ good.”

Jim just stares at him for a couple of seconds before bursting into laughter, breathy and loose, and Bob’s chuckling with him and it’s such a nice moment. He wishes it would last forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bob comes by his office on his last day. Everything is mostly packed up, just a few personal belongings here and there to be stowed away in his box and then – then he’s no longer the Deputy Attorney General. Then he’s just Jim Comey, ordinary guy.

But that’s not who Bob will be – that’s _never_ who Bob will be, just an ordinary man. He’s far from that.

The door is already open and Bob just steps right through, watching Jim shove a couple of files away. He crosses his arms and lets out a sigh. “Meeting with Gonzales is going to be a lot more agonizing now without you.”

“You could always take David with you,” Jim suggests. He gets up from his chair and smiles, just a fraction. It’s not a happy one but he can’t stop from smiling whenever he sees him.

Bob nods slowly. He lets out a slow sigh and holds out a hand. “It was a pleasure working with you, Jim.”

“It was an honor working with you,” Jim replies as he shakes his hand. He doesn’t let go, not immediately, looking at Bob’s face, into his eyes, and the question on the tip of his tongue comes out all on its own. “We’ll stay in touch, won’t we?”

Bob doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then his gaze softens and he squeezes his hand. “Of course,” he says.

The door is wide open and Chuck is outside, getting everything ready for Jim’s departure, and so Jim resists the urge to move forward and kiss Bob, one last time, while they’re both still able to. He wants to say something – he knows what he wants to say, and he knows this is likely the last chance he’ll get to say it. He opens his mouth and takes in a breath and he –

And the words stick in the back of his throat and instead he says, quietly, “I can’t say it.”

“I understand,” Bob says. His voice is quiet and soft and it makes Jim’s heart break, just a little, because he really wishes he could say it. Maybe it would make everything better. Or, maybe, it wouldn’t change anything at all.

Bob lets go of his hand and walks out the door and Jim watches him go.

It’s the end of something. He’s not sure of what, but he knows it’s the end. If he can even say it began at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Aaron drains his glass and refills it again. The bottle he and Andy are sharing is almost over but he’s not sure if they’ll need to order another one. The story is finished and they’ve spent the better part of an hour just shaking their heads and processing the news._

_Andy clears his throat. “Do you think Bob knew you were listening in?”_

_“No,” Aaron says. “The office was empty and he’d told me to go ages ago but, well, you know how it is…”_

_“Yeah, I do,” Andy nods, sympathetic. He lets out a sigh and holds his glass with both hands, glasses sliding down the edge of his nose. He opens his mouth and doesn’t say anything for a second. “How long, do you think, they’ve been… you know…”_

_Aaron shrugs. “I have no idea.” He sips his drink and stares down at it for a moment. “But if I had to guess, then it’s probably the Ashcroft hospitalization incident.”_

_“That sounds about right,” Andy says. And then, surprisingly, he lets out a chuckle. It’s light and tinged with the slightest bit of hysteria and Aaron raises a brow at him. He clears his throat. “I’m just… is it just me or do you, too, feel like you’ve been played a little?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“They let us do what we did,” Andy says. “They didn’t stop us. They let us be selfish without knowing what this was all about and, well… don’t you feel a little stupid for it?”_

_Aaron doesn’t say anything for a second, then lets out a groan. “You know what, I really do.”_

_They share a laugh and man, is it nice to have someone who knows exactly how he’s feeling. He’s known Andy for a while, they were both at the FBI together until Aaron left to follow – well, to follow Bob, really – but he never really knew that Andy was really the same as him._

_Andy’s phone buzzes and he fishes it out of his pocket. “Shit, I gotta take this.” He gets up from his seat and nods at Aaron, just about to say goodbye, when Aaron suddenly speaks._

_“Do you want to grab dinner?” he blurts out._

_“What?” Andy blinks, sounding understandably confused._

_Aaron thinks his face is a little red and he considers backing down from his statement but then he thinks,_ fuck it _, and goes right for it. “Let’s grab a bite to eat,” he says. “You and me. We can talk more about this, maybe a bit about the investigation, but I just…” he pauses a second, licking his lips and looking right up at Andy. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”_

_Andy doesn’t say anything for a second, and then he finally nods. “Okay,” he says. “Let me take this call and then we can head out, I guess.” He pats Aaron on the shoulder and walks aside, sliding his phone open and pressing it to his ear._

That was easy _, Aaron thinks sarcastically. But he’s glad he asked because he doesn’t want to go home alone right now. He really doesn’t want to be alone._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jim calls when he thinks Bob will be done working. He knows Bob is never done working but, well, sometimes he does take breaks. And he always picks up when he calls.

He’s not sure how he should feel about that – happy that he does, or guilty that he needs to. Because Jim needs to hear his voice and know what he’s doing and know that it’s going to be okay. He needs to know it’s going to be okay.

“It’s going to be okay,” Bob says, when Jim asks him. “Whether I’m removed as the special counsel or not, it doesn’t matter. The truth will come out, inevitably, and our country will find its way back to its feet. Everything is going to work out.”

“It’s hard to see that from this side of the picture,” Jim replies quietly. His hands twitch quietly and he wonders what Bob is doing right now. His heart feels tight in his chest and he lets out a slow breath. “Bob?”

“Yes?”

“I…” He starts out, intent on saying one thing, but then he just doesn’t say anything at all.

Bob speaks instead. “I finally understand what happened between you and Andy,” he says. “It’s what happened between me and Aaron.” He pauses a bit, letting out a heavy sigh. “We’ve spent our lives doing what is right by the law, but it’s easy to forget that sometimes, we need to do what is right by ourselves.”

“We want to help them but instead, we end up hurting them,” Jim says quietly. “I… I regret a lot of things, Bob.”

“I do too,” Bob admits.

There’s a long moment of quiet. Jim’s not sure he’s really breathing. His throat is closed and his eyes are shut and he wishes –

“I wish I could’ve told you, that day, what I wanted to say,” he whispers. He has a feeling Bob will know what he’s talking about.

“That would have been nice,” Bob agrees, quietly. “Do you… think you could say it now?”

Jim’s mouth hangs open and the words are right there – _right_ there – but his mouth just won’t do it and he wishes he could just say it. Why can’t he just say it?

“It’s okay, Jim,” Bob says after a moment. “You don’t have to.”

“I wish I could,” Jim replies. “God, I… I wish I could. I really wish I could.”

“I know.”

Jim leans his head against his arm, staring out into nowhere. He wonders when it’s going to be all over, when it’ll all finally end and the United States will be in safer hands and everything goes back to the way it should. “Do you really think it’s going to be okay?”

“I do,” Bob replies, without any hesitation. “I really do.”

“Okay,” Jim says. Then he believes it too. It really will be okay, in the end.

It has to.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, it's over, and I can move on with my life. To all my friends who made me write that first fic, I have a few choice words to share with you later, in person.
> 
> To everyone else, here is your timeless message that, regardless of when you read this, that you should contact your elected officials about what they're doing and keep them accountable for their actions.


End file.
